


Ghosts take all the power

by RoyalDarlingPrincess



Category: inFAMOUS: Second Son
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-14
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2018-10-04 23:14:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10292303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoyalDarlingPrincess/pseuds/RoyalDarlingPrincess
Summary: Infamous second son au with Delsin Rowe and Brooke Augustine as two college kids, one rich and the other a minority. They face off after a haunting by deadly conduits leaves children dead and their town frustrated. As tensions run high and the death toll rises, who will be the savior.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is an au of the infamous second son game. The characters were very intriguing and I got this idea after watching my favorite horror movie. I hope you like it.

“How are you enjoying the exhibit so far?” Her jaw clenches on impulse, teeth grind against each other for half a second before an effortless, half smile is forced to surface on her face. “The exhibition is beautiful – I am enjoying myself immensely.” Blinks, once, twice, good-she sounds convincing. The man, a former senator, businessman or a friend of her father- the faces of the high society class sometimes blur into one shapeless mass of talking heads, feigning interest in topics such as business, sports, politics, while mouths move animatedly over empty words devoid of meaning. But as the daughter of a soon to be reelected senator, she had no choice but to be present, smiling prettily under layers of makeup, with a coiffed hairstyle and feet squeezed into heels.

  
"A misunderstanding - you were part of a white power meeting,” A wolfish grin rears his mouth into a parody of a friendly smirk, and it immediately clicks that the smiling brunette man is not a friend of her fathers. "You can't help people talking about racial connotations, especially when your group attacked some Native Americans." His barb spurs her to reply with vengeance.

  
"Except-," corrects with a smooth and confident air, drawing her posture into a straight line, ‘ _D_ on't _let them rattle you’_. “-Only one boy was Native American and the other two were his friends - white students. And incidentally, he has been arrested numerous times by his brother and released for acts of vandalism." She continues, with an edge of indifference and the barest hint of mocking, "Perhaps you would prefer to look into the corruption in the police force, rather than what some white kids are doing school." Her eyes held a sword-like edge of mild rebuke, piercing into his face that been darkening a dark red in embarrassment, "or are you one to judge people by the color of the skin."  
"No," he quickly replies, "But-"

  
"Then there is no reason to doubt me when I tell you that there was no KKK meeting in my friends house," favoring him with a cool, gentle smile, she says, "Do enjoy your time here, I am sure you will love the exhibition, particularly the artifacts from the Bribri tribe".

With a final departing smile, she moves effortlessly away to mingle with the other visitors. Inside, she is seething. Damn that stupid idiot, dredging up a failure she hoped she could put behind her with this exhibition on Native Americans. There was no regret, after all, they had done nothing wrong. A group of students, her friends, decided to meet at a friend's tree house one afternoon. It has nothing to do with race relations or the KKK. Peter had simply suggested they get together to discuss the contributions of white civilization, seeing as there was Black History month, and a National American Indian Heritage Month. Of course, the main reason was probably due to his interest in discussing his confederate grandfather, who fought in the war.

  
A few of them went along with the idea, Sheila, Philip and Theodore had come prepared with details about white societies and what they contributed to the world, while Brooke had joined in with great interest to hear them and even commented positively on their research. She wasn't much interested in the topic, rather she preferred to admire Philip.

He wasn't handsome, with a face full of pimples and an odd smile, but being sweet and articulate was his strengths. And while his speech on the white farmers in Zimbabwe received her positive impression, it was not that causing the butterflies to flutter in her stomach. The media hadn’t bothered with the truth, throwing a hateful glare at the reporters huddled next to a giant statue of an Indian that represented some Native American tribe’s craft culture. Now, she was stuck here, doing damage control, struggling desperately to repair the blow inflicted to her dad's campaign by the headline ‘Daughter of State Senator found in KKK group’.

  
When she finds out who did that mess, fingers itch to wrap around someone's throat, she will string them up by their ankles and beat them repeatedly with concrete...But first, how to pin the responsible party and discover how the media could trap them with the picture ...it was definitely intentional.

  
"Brooke, is everything alright?' Her father walks up to her, concern vivid from the arch of his brown to the frown on his features. Since the report broke out, a crease seemed permanently attached to his forehead, anxious about his daughter. "Yes, everything is fine." Smile, it’s full of reassurance, and her countenance relaxes while her guard drops. "You seemed upset talking to Mr. Williams. Did he say something to you?” Sparing a glance at the departing gentlemen, a frown tugging at his lips.

  
"No, no dad!" Squeezing the hand on her shoulder, "He hadn’t said anything that wasn't so horribly false…I can handle it all. " The smile grows until it changes her visage to something more calm and controlled, which seemed to please Mr. Augustine. A handsome man, his auburn hair, a shade darker than hers was neatly combed, the color adding a pronouncement to his sharp features; particularly his cheeks and nose. Brooke had the same problem, the red hair, a family trait, tends to deepen the curves and lines of her face. When she frowns, her friends tease that she resembles a demon.

  
"Just an hour more and you can leave." He promises, showing his understanding for her as fingers squeeze her shoulder in comfort. Head turns to the podium, decorated for the unveiling with shiny ribbon and a dark red curtain, he gestures with a nod, pride in his tone "You’ll be up there with me for the grand unveiling, Brookie, and it will be all worth it." The warmth of his fingers seemed to create an airy feeling in her chest and a flood of positive emotions; he was a good father, so considerate unlike some. Recalling for a brief moment with a tug of annoyance, Gwendolyn with a permanent childish pout, sitting in the closet in the basement, ear phones plugged in, and fingers tapping away at numerous texts because daddy wanted to drag her to some Indians show.

  
Brooke spent the next few minutes perusing the artifacts and sculptures on display, trying to understand the fascination with feather embellished headdresses and busts of men's faces, weathered by time and oily in texture, inked with war paint. There were plenty of animal motifs and a rich use of color embedded in elaborate costumes besides paintings adorned with vivid imagery and jewelry in full plumes of feathers and shiny ornaments. Yet, Brooke felt nothing inspirational from these old works showing the creativity and uniqueness of a forgotten group of tribe people. She didn't comprehend the fascination people showered on forgotten ancient tribes that lived long ago, a few steps from a cult that boasted a vested interest in nature, animal skins and herbal magic and little else. It seemed so surreal, and odd.

Nature to her was a room surrounded by computer or books, testaments to man's ingenuity. And for all her understanding of politics and culture, it is a conundrum to her why the rich people of Seattle found the Native American tribes of remarkable interest, what was so special about them? Clinging to the past was..unnecessary. "Excuse me, Brooke. Your father wants to see you at the stage.” The voice of her father’s secretary drags her from her musings, and she immediately heeds the call of the pretty dark-haired 24 year old.

  
Tearing her eyes from the Indian man drenched in furs and steering his war painted horse across a river flowing with vivid colors, she takes her place beside her father on the podium. Looking out at the large crowd of rich donors and socialites as well as community members of the town, she notices the varying degrees of interest in their stares. Most look respectful while others bear their appreciation and admiration plainly on their faces.

 She finds she likes basking in their reverence and feeling them look to her authority. A thin smile lifts her lips, awaiting her father’s cue. When he delivers his speech, it is articulate and expressed in his distinct smooth tone. He said, “It is my greatest pleasure to stand before you to unveil the newly acquired Native American exhibit that shows the rich history and culture of the Native Americans living here. They are an important part of the social fabric, and there needs to be better attempts to promote peace and harmony. This piece I have recently acquired was purchased for the exhibit and demonstrates my commitment to the people of this town of all nationalities and races.”

  
He began to emphasize how the new Native American exhibit would help spread cultural awareness and enlightenment in their town. And judging from the positive vibes emerging from the crowd, there were many who had begun to see her father like she did – a strong, charming and positive role model that would renovate the quaint charm of the town into a powerhouse of business. Her mind was only half attentive to the speech; after all she had heard it for days, echoing through the walls of his study. Towards the end, fingers grasp one end of the cloth, and she dutifully takes the other end.

  
"My friends and loyal supporters, I present to you this ancient work that I discovered that I think represents the rich cultural heritage of the Native American Indians who are an integral part of our multicultural society." The curtain was swept away with a flourish and for a second, both father and daughter await the respectful murmurs of approval. Their illusions were shattered as several cries resembling horror and shock hit them hard, even a few uncontrollable guffaws of laughter could be heard. Brooke and her father uttered twin gasps of dismay at the empty spot where the painting was meant to stand as a proud symbol. Instead scribbled into the expensive wall is a mock caricature of Mr. Augustine with the words “liar” and “whitie’ scribbled on his face in block letters. There were several shouts of indignant anger as realization dawned that the walls of a distinguished museum are marred by graffiti.

  
Her eyes swept over the gleaming bright paint that exaggerate her father’s features to a rude and gross degree, a frown darkens her features at the horrible writing etched on his caricature that was obnoxious and petty – a childish attempt at an insult. But it was insulting and disrespectful; Brooke felt a sudden wave of pure unadulterated fury scream through her body, her cheeks grow hot and her eyes move lividly across the room, looking for the culprit.

  
Mr. Augustine tries to calm the crowd and walk away with some dignity. Beads of sweat awash his forehead creased with worry mixed with anxiety. The fact that this was allowed to happen so close to the elections would play badly on his re-election campaign. Around him, guests had begun whispering under their breaths, making small accusations about him, eyes skewering his form with judgmental furtive looks. Her stomach twists into a thick knot, the air is sucked out of her lungs on noticing the frustrated expression hanging on her dad’s face, his cheeks tinged with embarrassment. All that work – ruined over one stupid prank. The anger only grew until it was a hot steaming liquid that flooded her whole body. She had a feeling who was responsible for this and damn her if she wasn't going to make that bastard pay. Turning on her heel, she descended from the stage, her gait heavy with purpose. She ignores the questioning looks and shouts from the people she pushed past, not sparing them a glance, though a few voices were commiserating and friendly. Grabbing her phone from her purse, a quick call was made to her friends and then, she drags Gwendolyn along, ignoring the girl’s protests and slight mocking laughter falling from playful lips.

  
Her small group was soon trekking carefully through the forest that was a few blocks from the museum. Lancelot and Theodore follow behind her, while Sheila and Philip walk together on her right. They trek on a path cut through the woods often used by tourists and the residents who wanted to have late night parties, do séances or for the lower dregs of society, to poison themselves with drugs and beer. Brooke illuminates their way with the torch in her hand, and with the other, she clings to Philip’s coat that he had draped around her. Ever the gentlemen, he didn’t want her to dirty her dress.

  
Leaves crunch under their feet and the cool forest air nips at their skin. Gwendolyn tries to keep up, breath huffing, as groans erupt from her mouth due to an unsteady balance she has to maintain while keeping pace with her friend. “You sure you want to do this, Brooke?” She manages to puff out, trying to see her profile in the dark, “What if they want to start a fight?” “They're just some stupid trash that entered the University cause of affirmative action!” Didn’t seem she is even trying to be politically correct not when the bastard humiliated her family. “Are you sure he did this?” Gwendolyn stepping in time to rapid pace.

  
“Yes, it was him,” she snaps, giving her a dirty sidelong glance, “who else would use such cheap paint and have such a disregard for private property - that jackass is going to pay for this.” Lancelot uttered a small cry as his legs nearly tripped over a branch, and he had to jerk his body to keep upright. “Why can’t we do this in the morning, it will be even better during the day to dispel mob justice. Why do we have to go after that idiot now!” His voice a high pitched whine with a shrill of annoyance.

  
Brooke didn't even bother answering, just continued with greater urgency into the direction of the abandoned warehouse. Two of her friends were softly complaining to each other instead of speaking directly to her and she blocked out all the unnecessary sound. Her mind buzzing with thoughts of revenge. “We'll be there soon!” She calls halfheartedly over her shoulder, and then her gaze caught the bright lights visible in the distance.  
She marches to the steel gate, eager to give that errant delinquent a piece of her mind. Philip helped her push open the doors, it made a scraping sound as the steel ripped against the mud and stone.

“Wait here, Gwendolyn - and get ready to call the police.” Her friend’s face was overtaken by a worried frown, “Why? Do you think it will get bad in there?” She doesn’t see it, but she knows her friend’s fingers are tightening around her phone in a nervous grip. Her gaze catches a few of his graffiti on old, weathered signs, and immediately took her foot to one. Imagining it was his face, and she was stomping on his head. Her eyes glittered with resolution in the dim light from the lamps. Once she reigns in her anger, she gestured to the cottage a few feet away, “Let’s go!” She told them.

  
“What if they offer us liquor?” Theodore murmured to his friend, and there was worry heavy in his question, “He didn’t want to get into trouble.” “Refuse,” Philip muttered, moving to stand beside Brooke, “You don’t have to drink if you don’t want to.” As they neared the cottage, a heavy techno beat filled the space like a cloud, pushing the silence and tranquility of the forest as a distant memory.

Soon they were standing a few meters from the entrance, the music blaring loudly in their ears and voices were mixed in. There was also laughter, the foolish kind that made her think of cackling hyenas. The party was in full swing and somewhere he is laughing it off with his friends. The red head was about to stomp to the entrance, and face the jerk when a few of the people caught her angry, furious figure despite being under the haze of alcohol and probably drugs, and they either laughed among themselves. Their faces flush and red from the exertion of drinking and dancing.

A dark-haired teen lazing on the porch hollers “Delsin,” loudly through the open door, “The Brooke is here.”

Eyes roll, annoyance flickers on her face, as she throws him a hateful glare at the ridiculous nickname.  Anyway, she doubts Delsin actually heard given how her ears thump slightly from the loud music. Someone must have informed him, Delsin saunters out, sweat dots his skin and his dark complexion has a touch of red.  "Hey, Gin-ger!" Someone yells, and she ignores the idiot.

“Hey, Brooke.” A smirk dancing on his lips, and his eyes glitter with a childish humor.  She is face-to-face with the insufferable leader with his posse trailing behind him. “Guys,”   the young man drawled, his smile widening until his teeth flash, “The Senator's daughter has decided to pay as a visit.”  And that childish inflection in his tone made her teeth grit in anger.

Brooke has a hard time restraining her anger at his cavalier attitude after what he did. Delsin still has a smug grin dancing on his lips, and it stretched his face into a comical look. As if he did anything to warrant looking so pleased with himself, she thought irately. “Hey Bookie, what brings you here?” Eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief. “I think you know what I'm here doesn't Rowe...” Speaking in a cool, icy tone, while anger shows in her furrowed brow and deepened lines on her face. Back stiffens rather than allow herself to get into an attack position.

  
“No, I don't know why daddy’s little princess decided to come here to my party.” He shrugs his shoulder. “I am here because you stole something from me,” she snaps, steel entering her voice as her teeth grit in frustration. “I want the painting back.” Eyes burning into his features, silently trying to intimidate him with her hardening anger, but it didn’t change his playful expression.

  
“Hey Marie, tell the little princess that we don't have any painting.” He turns his gaze to a pretty Mexican girl by his side. She repeats the answer, and her eyes glitter with amusement and a hint of pleasure, as if she is about to burst out laughing.

  
“Like I said.. no painting here!” And he repeats the languid motion of shrugging his arms before he refuted her accusation with a lazy drawl, “Maybe you wanna go accuse someone else!” Arms fold across his chest, and he waits a breadth for her reaction. Lips condense into a stern line, eyes narrow and her voice is tight, “Don't think I believe in your pathetic innocent act. Snaps with disgust. “You stole it - a priceless painting and replaced it with horrendous graffiti art. Don't you have any shame for performing such a criminal act when my father is honoring your people!” The edge rises in her tone, and the accusatory inflection just adds another layer of anger.

  
Maybe a guilt trip would likely get him to hand over the painting without much fight. A slow smile curled across his lips, bearing a smug and mocking crescent. “Priceless you say.” And his brows arch, and a snigger falls from his nose almost like a snort of derision. “But come on, an old painting can’t compare to real art from an actual Native American. You should be thankful I gave your little tribute a modern twist.”

  
His smirk widens at her eye roll, before she spares a glance at her friends behind her who bear varying degrees of annoyance at his antics. None of them wanted to be there. He cranes his neck to meet the eyes of the short girl behind him, “What about you? Abigail. You thought it was good, right!”  
Abigail Walker strides as if she was part of a bad play, her short pink hair gleams a shiny neon sheen. His girlfriend or fuck buddy, Brooke don't really know what kind of relationship the two delinquents shared, but the way she laughs along with him , it was evident that the relationship was based on nothing meaningful. A fun youthful romp perhaps.  
“Did you like my work, Fetch?” Posing the question with an induced levity in his behavior.

  
“I liked it a lot,” Walker answers as per their collusion, mimicking his comical act, “Especially liked –how-um- it was very relevant to Native American art.” Looking pointedly at her causing a frisson of fear to run through Brooke’s body. There was a hidden meaning in her words. ‘If you mean criminal behavior then - yes it does reference certain aspects of native American culture.’ She wants to blurt the words out just to see his self-absorbed look falter, but she bit down on them. There was no doubt it would worsen the situation.

  
“I didn’t see what aspect of Native American culture it was attributed to – it looked the work of a spoiled thug with no respect for his own culture.” Was the snappish reply, while tension thickens in her neck and shoulders. That engenders a jerk of annoyance on his face, as his eyes narrow. “That is racist!” Eugene cries, hurrying to stand beside his friend.

  
“It is only racist if it’s an unproven misconception and you just proved it true.” Her lips drew upwards in a small smile, arrogance hanging on her features. Her arms relaxing to framing her hips. Agitation grew among their ranks and they did what they considered their best impression of incontinent rage as if their own ancestors were wronged. “You better stop talking shots at my culture.” His eyes sharpening, while teeth flash inside a wolf-like sneer, and his voice had the expected effect of quieting down the crowd.

  
“I am not – I am revealing my contempt for you and your ilk.” She snarls, eyes flashing. Her friends began muttering angrily among themselves, Lancelot and Gwendolyn faces are cloudy with dark fury and aggravation. “Just give the picture back, Delsin.” Her fingers tighten on the ear phones. “We're not giving the picture back,” And she looks unimpressed at him as he can manage to interject a harshness into his tone for some perceived slight, “- so you can run and tell Daddy that the Native American culture will not be cheapened by some ridiculous political stunt.” “Yeah!” Several of his friends laughed and hollered in unison. “Yeah,” Abigail stepped forward, “the tribe are not going to be treated like props – just cause your dad needs to win the re-election.”

  
“What if I go to the police,” A wave of exhaustion washes over her and she is suddenly so fed up with dealing with this lower class scum that got into Seattle University on handouts and stupid scholarships for minorities. A slow smile spread over the boy’s face, a sudden just Cheshire-like grin. He takes a step closer, and a sudden anxiety twists in her gut. “Sure, go to the police..” Flashing her a smirk that reflects his self-assurance, and he adjusted his beanie that is tainted with pink paint. “You're welcome to go to the police anytime!” A tinge of smugness in the knowing smile he shares with his friends beside him. “The police are just going to search for the painting and during the course of the investigation..will probably get it appraised.” He has a cocky drawl to the words, and it feels it is there to irritate her on some level, and it’s working. His smile stretches until it feels like a shining beacon advertising her failures. Her fist by her side, twitches, demanding she aim it to his face.

  
“They will get it appraised..” Preening like a fucking peacock, “- they will find that the painting is not worth the price you said it was. You’ve been lying to the town about it.” Fear drops like a hard stone in her stomach, before anger flares like a fire. “Now you're an expert on priceless works of art,” Releasing a snort of derision, and crossing her arms across her chest to hide her shaking fists. There was a razor sharpness to her smile like a sword.

“Ya know I'm an expert on my culture and artifacts. I can tell when something is obviously fake.” “Plus,” he said, rolling his shoulders languidly, “I think I have better taste in art.” A snort of derision, and openly she mocks him. “I have seen your taste in women,” Tilting her head towards Abby, “I sincerely doubt the veracity of that comment just by looking at your girlfriend.” And the remark is petty and a product of her simmering rage, and it has the effect of angering Abby, who lurches forward in an attack. Hands hold her back, it could be Eugene or that girl, Ruby.

Abigail face contorts into an ugly expression, eyes burning, “what d’you say? Bitch.” Some other guy Marcus probably, keep his fingers tight on her arms.  
“I understand you are having problems at home - as most Native Americans do! There is no need to result in criminal activities..” The line is delivered as a sardonic taunt that is echoed in the icy sneer, eyes glittering darkly. She covers her annoyance and frustration well.

  
“Racism what a surprise!” The smile that flutters on his lips is more amused than insulted, maybe cause he feels that he is fighting for a cause, protecting his family’s legacy. They have differing views of the same event, one is the perpetrator and the other a victim- but good luck convincing either of them of their position.

  
“As if what you did was not shameful.. No, I was merely referring to common statistics.” It wasn’t a defense, her stance is still aggressive, and she didn’t show any sign of remorse. His friends stir restlessly, glowering at her with open hostility, though their faces were obscured by shadows, with patches of color light up by the backdrop of light from the house and their neon glow sticks. Their open disgust and hatred shimmer coldly. Brooke could care less for them, barely sparing their feelings a cursory glance, her gaze roams over the belligerent Native American boy. The only thought in her head, beating like a sign is a way to get that painting back.

“Statistics or not, you shouldn’t talk what you know nothing about!”

“Follow your own advice!” She retorts, trying to stop her teeth from grinding in annoyance. “Where did you keep the painting- just hand it over! You have just committed a felony and even your brother can’t help you now.”

  
His eyes don’t lose their sparkle, and neither does the bright smile fade. Every threat or warning seems to bounce off this overweening and casual demeanor. ‘Did he ever take anything seriously?’ She wonders. “Chill lady, you are not in control.” He sniggers, “I don't think you want the cops involved any more than I do.” Delsin had been planning this for some time, carefully working out the various details till he was assured that it would go off without a hitch.

Brooke suppresses the fury that stirs her blood into a near frenzy when she notes the twinkle in his eyes. He really is so brazen. “ How about we talk this over? You agree to feature actual Akomish culture –something colorful."

"And.." He continues with a self-confident air, basking in the attention he receives from the eyes fixed on him, "You dad also has to agree to meet with the elders to discuss the mall development project.”

There is a shrewd glint in his eyes, and a smug fringe to his words, as if the sentence is carefully constructed to be used as a weapon.

“And I will give you your painting back.” The mirth that bubbles on his features loses their boyish charm for a second, and she discovers the marks of an idiocy.

She fixes him with an ice cold glare, gritting her teeth. “The deals have already been signed. We can’t back out just because you and your tribe think the land is sacred because some of your ancestors was buried there.” It was a struggle to keep the contempt from being audible, not like these drunken buffoons could comprehend anything in their partially drunken state.

A knot of tension twists her insides, fury contorts the lines on her face till they blaze at his utter impudence.  Whispers rise behind her, and she can hear Lancelot distinctly snap in anger, "The audacity of this delinquent. What a low-thinking jackass!”

“Some of my ancestors died at sea, you don't see us claiming it as the Holy Land.” She resorts snarkily, her irritation is obvious now and it causes him to lose that confident smile to drop.

Good, she managed to wipe that smirk off his face. “Can you believe his gurl?” Abigail mutters to Marcus, gesturing with her thumb. The boy glowers, hate clear, and his braces sparkle in the moonlight. “Hey, your ancestors stole the land.” His accent thickening the words in his mouth.

“Oh, shut up Marcus,” Gwendolyn spoke up, pointing a manicured finger at him.  “Your ancestors probably illegally cross the border.” Tossing her long blonde hair over the shoulder with a huff.

 A cloud of collective anger and indignation rose from the group behind Delsin. They were upset on his behalf. “Hey, you don't get to be a bitch,” Marcus raised his arm, standing in defense of his friends. “Come on Delsin, let's just kick her ass.” Encouraged Abigail, while Eugene slowly walks backward to disappear behind the group

Many of the big-headed thugs echoed his sentiment, itching to start a brawl, their angry murmurings of threats and violence in the exchange of whispers.  

 "You say you are not a criminal… but we all see the path you're leading,” She tells him sternly, holding his gaze with her fierce one, eyes drawn together, and face set in a stony countenance. The urge to insult him is strong, but she keeps them reigned in.

“There is a chance for you to do the right thing by handing over the painting and not resorting to blackmail.” Sheila shoves herself between Gwendolyn and Brooke, annoyed and frustrated.

“Hey, we are trying to do the right thing,” Delsin insists, unable to lose his casual, lighthearted manner of speaking, despite the growing animosity between them, growing as they made their dislike towards each other very vocal.

“We are standing up for the Akkomish people..standing up for what is right!” Raising his voice just a little, and his friends cheer him on, their shouts full of approval.

 It took all her willpower not to roll her eyes heavenward and throw something at him preferably her shoe.

“You are not- “ Lancelot snarls, fists balled by his side, hate in every word, brandishing a “ You are a bunch of criminals indulging in criminal behavior cause you are the lower class of society who serve no purpose but to occupy the lower positions in fast food franchises.”

Augustine ducks, barely missing the punch aimed at her cheek from the pink haired girl. “You're going to get it now, bitch!” Abigail yells, bringing up her other fist to connect with her chin. Hands block the attack and Brooke slams a fist into her side. Bringing up her hands, her fingers clasp around her wrists keeping Abigail at pose. 

It was a full-on brawl with legs kicking, knees smashing into flesh, punches flying an nails ripping at skin. 

A few feet from her, Gwen grapples with Ruby, and surprisingly is holding her own. Brooke, who had been training with her during soccer season, was glad her tips helped, but that fleeting thought rips through her mind, as her eyes focus on another punch that Abby aimed after she broke free. Brooke retaliates by reaching around and catching Abigail in the neck and switches so she is on top. The pink haired girls resorts to jamming her knee against her, forcing her to lose her grip, and evacuate air out of her lungs in a huff.

Suddenly one of her friends is on her, and panic bursts in her chest. There is no way she can take on two people at the same time. Marie grips her arms and bends it backwards at a painful angle, giving Aby a clear pathway to her face. Gwen is pressed into the dirt with Ruby on top of her, knees against her back, and fingers twisted in her hair. 

Lancelot and Theodore tackle with two other hoodlums, Sheila struggles to scramble away from the girl wrapped around her waist. Philip is the only one putting up a good fight, trading blows with Delsin. They release violent grunts, snapping at each other. " You are a real jackass, Delsin!" Philip grunts, blocking a swing, and delivering a punch to his stomach. Delsin doubles over as he gives a swift uppercut to the blonde boy's chin. "You talk smack like a 10-year-old."

Suddenly, a cry of pain and shock pierces the air. "Lancelot, what's going on?" Everyone freezes and share a look of confusion. Lancelot rubs his forehead, and eyes his friends and tormentors. "What the fuck is this?" Delsin and Philip both wince as hard and sharp object strike their bare flesh. 

Brooke raises her eyes skyward, and then closes eyes as her cheeks sting from the force, joining the flare of pain that Abigail invoked when she gave her some hard knocks. 

"What is this?" Abigail shields her head as she jumps to her feet, "The weather didn't call for hailstorm..We don't usually get hailstorms..in summer! Wha-"The Boston accent slurring her words. 

"This is loco, ya'll!" Marie shakes her dark brown hair. "We should probably get to-" Philip starts but doesn't quite finish his sentence, instead his teeth catches his lower lip.  A flash of lighting burns bright through the darkness of the evening, catching their attention. 

'What is that?"

It happens suddenly, one minute they are brawling with each other, then lightning flashes and the world seems to change. A chill permeates the air, and it seeps into his skin and curdles his blood. Brooke shivers, all she's wearing is the evening dress and she's pretty sure it is stained from her trip to this dumpster. Keeping her voice steady, she fixes him with the most intense stare she can manage despite the growing knot in her belly, and made another attempt to get the painting back during the lull in the fight. "Delsin," she says in a demanding voice, "You should.."

Their eyes shift focus to the area, where they see odd silvery shapes form out of the air a few feet behind them. The shapes float closer, taking human outlines that slowly discern themselves into people. 

Ruby blinks and yells,  "What- where did those people come from?"  Her words slightly slurring from the busted lip. 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

The scene feels wrong, something from a dream as the outwardly creatures approaching them. A flash of lighting across air that hits Marcus. Brooke watches in horror as the boy is flung in the air and slams into the wall. Screams and shouts of alarm from the others. "What is all of this? What is going on?" Lancelot grabs her arm, but he is suddenly pulled away from her to be swallowed by the earth. Shock tightens every muscle in her body, but a sudden wash of adrenaline drives her to run. 

Delsin blinks at the scene, this must be some kind of joke, he thinks. The aggressive way some of his friends are standing tells him no one knows who these people are or what they are.

Their silvery figures seem to float closer, and take the misshapen figure of humans with their faces if not for the odd transparency and the smoke like quality of their bodies. They appear to slip in and out of the dark shadows. The temperature drops, a sudden icy chill pickles their skin. Delsin has this odd thought that maybe this is a joke or some movie effects, then a flash of movement, and Philip is suspended in the trees by swirling leaves, along with Eugene. The boy barely has time to understand the situation when he dodges a strange ball of mist. 

Abby keeps on the ground, and moves slowly to the junkyard, struggling to avoid the sudden assault from the strange beings. The air pickles and the ground shakes underneath his feet. "What the hell is trying to kill him?"  He turns his head, looking where to go and watches in horror as a sudden tornado of mist wraps around Theodore, his eyes widen into terror. "What is going on?" He barely has time to scream, tears and sweat glittering on his face, before the mist drags him into the darkness. 

A hand clutches his arm, and pulls him towards the cottage but he stops abruptly, as Delsin trips over his feet. He turns to see one of his party guests Noah, standing absolutely still, then his head tips forward. Delsin stifles a horrified scream, spots of dark red blood splash on his face. He jumps to his feet, avoiding the fallen bodies, he rushes through the door and slams it shut, pushing an old chair in front of it. His chest heaving, as fear tightens into thick knots in his gut. He can’t process what is happening.

 “Delsin,” Abby calls from up the stairs, she barely made it into the first floor landing. He nearly jumps in fright. “Get up here!”   He runs up the stairs, his heart pounding in time to the thrum of a headache. Outside, many of the youngsters continue to scream.

He remembers the light in Theo’s eyes, the terror and horror as death wraps its tendrils around him and sucks the life from him.  “What are those things?’ Abigail hissed in a shaky voice, light eyes bright with fear. Delsin can only shake his head as he takes a seat on the broken down bed, pulling down his red  beaner.  “I don’t know-I haven’t a clue!” His hands tremble.  A blue-haired girl burst into tears, and sobs into her boyfriend’s arms in the corner of the room. They are frightened, confused and struggle to understand what just happened.  “Should we go back for them?” Sam asks, another boy from Delsin’s college. “No way, I ain’t going out there!” Abigail yells, fear entering her voice as her hands shake. 

The small group barely notices the shadowy figure rising outside the window, materializing out of the mist. It slowly enters the room, a young man.  Delsin covers his mouth and falls to the floor. The ghost floats quietly for a moment, when a sudden smirk lights his formless features, or maybe because they were all stricken by terror. He raises a silvery hand and from his fingertips, a mist emerges to snatch his hand and drag him to pin him to the ceiling. “De, come on!” Fetch tries to pull him away. A tendril of mist emerging from the figure backhands her into the wall. “Abs,”   She falls down with a heavy crash, blood trickling down her nose. Delsin can feel the evil emanating from the figure, something dark that seems to choke him from the inside.

Something snaps, as he stares into the haunted silver eyes of the ghost. ‘ _They were all dead either way..”_ He thinks as he rushes forward with a stick in his hand, which he will say later was a stupid way to attempt to kill a ghost.  Aiming for the guy’s head, he takes a swing, and it passes right through him. He had an inkling there wouldn’t be anything solid to cause lasting damage, but he is driven on purely adrenaline.  Amusement ripples across the creature’s face before a hand presses against his face, the   heat evaporates from his skin, and something forces into his throat, he struggles to breathe as his chest compresses.  

  
There is a tiny explosion when his skin meets the tainted air, and he is assaulted by a rush of memories and emotions. The  ghost becomes clearer, its emotions more substantial – a toxic combination of fury, disgust and a violent burning hate. The strength of it all hits him like a like a truck. Suddenly the infusion of it electrifies every vein in his body, and the ghost is pushed back with a kind of moisture on his fingertips. Then, the darkness swallows them whole, the concerned cries of Fetch calling for him from the beyond.

 Augustine had better luck managing to avoid the other ghost projectors aiming at your head. She ducks, avoiding the flash of leaves aimed at her head. A sudden wetness, and she raises her hand to find her skin stained in the blood . A gasp, and her eyes catch the body of her friend Agatha. She spares a thought for the poor creature, but then adrenaline rushes through her system. She runs  to hide behind a block of concrete. The delay cost her a few seconds, and while she feels safe, the dirt under her swallows her leg. Yanking with strength, she frees her leg and moves deeper to hide behind the cottage.   They are determined to stop her. A hail of stone falls down on her, many smacking them into her head, pain flaring in many parts of her body.  ‘I have to fight this,” She urges herself, ‘I can’t let them kill me!’  Moving to the side and nearly tripping over her heels.  

 (details)

The event is foggy and obscure in her mind like a shadow play with static in the background. Everything is a blur except the screams of agony and the sickening sounds as flesh is ripped from bone and the crunch of bones as bodies are slammed into hard surfaces.  Nausea rises at the back of her throat and her stomach lurches, she gags once, and again, but her father grabs the wastepaper basket. She empties the contents of her stomach into the wastepaper bin, ignoring the protest of her muscles at the sudden movement.

 (

All that out is the foul tasting lunch she had at the party and the little glistening cider. Mr. Augustine rubs her back comfortingly. A few more dry heavy heaves, she finally relaxes with a sigh, and  rubs the back of her hand on her mouth. Eyes burn and body feels rubbery and broken.

 _‘What did she witness?’_ Her broken mind struggles with the sharp pictures that play like a black and white horror movie.

“Dad,” She whispers in a voice like dried ice, eyes full of pleading, “What is going on? Please tell me?”. There is so much pain in the eyes that his chest threatens to compress his heart. “Brooke.. Brooke,” he starts, trying to find some comforting words for his poor suffering daughter, looking wretched.

“Dad, I don’t know what happened?” Fear enters her words. “That they had the same ability as you,” He whispers and then there is a tremble of fear and he is moved to pity and fear for her.

He reaches to hold her hand in a comforting gesture. “Brooke, I want to tell you the truth,” he sighs gently, “but not here. Let’s get you home!”

Delsin awakes up light-headed and woozy like someone had taken a bat to his head. “Delsin,” He raises his eyes to the sound of his name and finds his brother's worried eyes. “Reggie, what is going on?”

The pain flares up strong and brutal. Simultaneously fragments of distorted memories assault his mind and he has to bite the inside of his lips to remain grounded to reality.

“Delsin,” Reggie wraps his arms around his brother and secures him tightly. "The police are saying there was a massacre…that you, Eugene, Abigail and Brooke are the only survivors.”

He struggles to process the entire thing as a chain of thoughts rip through his head.  ‘Only survivors..massacre..’

He presses his fingers into his brother’s shoulders and buries himself into the warmth. Struggling to shut down the high pitched wailing in his head that sounded suspiciously like tearful pleas. “What exactly do you remember?” Reggie extracted himself from the hug and gazes at him with concern, finding moistness gathering in Delsin's eyes.

“We were having a party at this old abandoned cottage,” He forced through dried lips.

“Was drugs and alcohol there?”  Reggie asks, keeping a comforting hand on his shoulder. Delsin swallows, squirming under the intense scrutiny and finds anger rise inside him.

“You think we all took some beer and cocaine- then slaughtered each other..what the hell man!”

He is starting to feel more clear-headed though his emotions begin to whirl tumultuously inside him. At least he was more in control and wasn't freaking out as much. Reggie’s overbearing authority presence provided him with some solace.

“What happened? Delsin,” Unable to keep the annoyance from seeping into his words, rubbing his forehead irately, “because I'm trying to understand… 17 kids are dead. You are one of those survivors..” His voice rising, and his hand gestures are animated, “.. but you can’t tell me anything. Lives are at stake here!” He stressed, fingers tightening on Delsin's shoulders, “We have to catch the murderer!”

Delsin lowers his eyes, and takes his brother's hand in his own, fingers trembling slightly. His skin crawl from under his brother’s probing stare, feeling the anger and tension curling around his spine.

While an uncomfortable itchiness crawls up his throat. “Reggie,” he had to force the words out and they tasted sour on his tongue. “I am not trying to hide anything. I don't remember… it's all fuzzy.”

On seeing the naked sadness and pain on his Reggie’s face, he loosens his posture, letting his shoulders slump. “I am sorry for putting you through this. I am under a lot of pressure,” Releasing a frustrated groan, before pressing a hand against Delsin’s cheek, “You have been through a terrible ordeal.” He squeezed his arm comfortingly, “And I will help you get through this!”

A thought flashed in his mind , a horrible sickening flashback of the silvery transparent beings grabbing his arms to stop him from fighting back. 'What were those things?'

Then, another image bleeds into his mind. there ws a huge fire and in front there were people on their knees. bowing down. a collective chant rose from the group. then two people stepped forward their bodies cloaked by large dark blood red cloaked figures . two of them stood up and walked forward nd threw off their cloaks revealing the naked bodies %of a man and woman. they stepped forward and entered a circle that contained an odd silvery substance . the woman got on her knees like a dog and the man enters her from behind.the woman tosses back her head and starts squealing and grunting. the sounds echoes by the man. their movements splash the silver liquid all around. the minute the silver touches their skin it turns black tainted them like a bruise as their fucking becomes more animalistic. He grabbed his forehead Struggling to make sense of his thoughts they pierced them like a hundred stagmites into his skull. The doctor's return an hour later to perform a few tests on him. Intertidal time he was subjected to his brothers incessant worry. The the policeman came by to ask you questions boost what happened ? Who murdered those teens? grilling him with hard brutal stares. Magnifying your suspicion and intimidation of they bored right through him. No he couldn't explain why Parole Office Crestview FL in he had no idea who the murderer was no he couldn't understand why he was spared though he was tempted to answer to because some weird green light came from his fingers and he had no idea how he did it. later in the evening when everyone finally gave him some peace he was left alone with violent troubling thoughts. every nerve ending was tingling under his skin and hyper sensitive. Imagine the Shadows waiting to come alive to destroy him . Harry little crunch of leaves at the movement of trees get the feeling that someone was out there willing to kill him. Those things whatever they were he refused to call them ghosts. They didn't exist neither did humans with special powers stop it was all absurd. I'd like to set up and decided to go outside for a walk luckily the doctor remove the IV drip and the heart monitor.Whatever they decide to stick into him. The hospital was quiet the silence was heavy and oppressive. And he was tempted to talk to him so white Pages he could fill the emptiness that was riddled with the echoing scream of his classmates and was going louder. They didn't deserve to die like that . He hadn't seen any pictures but Reggie even hid the remote to protect him. But Delsin remembers he had a weak understanding of the amount of blood that was spilled and the limbs scattered across the grass. Peter requires a bit of the splatters no marking the decrepit old house. The feeling to fall asleep for the 15th time he decided that asking the nurses wrath was a better alternative. The hallway was empty save for a few lights blinking intermittently. He walks slowly partly drowning in an enforced bubble that attempted to keep the thoughts from breaking him. Little alert to the sound of footsteps. His feet got him down two hallways and through three doors then he reached a dead end and had to turn back. He lingered in Corners to avoid the night shift nurses passing by on the way the commissary. As he left to go up to the Terrace he came across Augustine bending over a soda machine. She pick up the can opened it and put this long sip.Delsin couldn't remove his eyes from her feeling an odd sense of anxiety over the other Survivor food stop how did it happen and why her? His feet guide him forward cited to talk more maybe question how she managed to survive along with the others but there was a twisted knot in his gut that made him uneasy about the answers. Hey Augustine how you're feeling? She has him with a a guarded and wary expression. Delsin you're alive good for you she mumers. You don't sound happy upset that casper didn't take me away to Neverland. Trying to make light of the situation. to dispell the heavy tension. he couldnt understand even after what they've been through why thete still some level of distrust between them just because they were on opposite sides. .You mix two different types of fairy tales, she pointed out dryly and her face sort of pinched in annoyance and maybe a touch of disdain. I don't think you can call casper of Fairy Tale . He tries to laugh it off it sounds Hollow and strained. Just compresses photo like something is squeezing his heart. And the blood is pounding in his ears. He was a Friendly Ghost I think they actually exist so that makes them a fairytale. In the way she moves her mouth michelle in space and is trying to push out his words. Did you speak to the cops? The garden expression increases in intensity those blue eyes post office object in the governor's daughter so I got some a reprieve until tomorrow she admits quietly

What are they doing what time does different laws for the rich..got it poster so you spoke to the cops told them everything did you? She shot back there was a better state of anger that was laced with tiredness. What I could remember? When it looked like she was about to ask him for more information he volunteers it directly. We were at the party at the pendant at the abandoned mulberry cabin things went blank from there . And the police didn't question why you were trespassing she asks dryly.

No that really didn't come up he responds flippantlying. They more concerned with the murder what is a petty crime and he cut her off because he knew what she was going to say something

The home was abandoned and doesn't belong to anyone Delsin seems so pleased with the rebuttal that Broioke mentally rolls her eyes. She understood this was his way of dealing with the situation, without resorting thinking I'll of him. But it was beginning too get on her nerves as frayed and stressed as they were. They did question me about the drinking and drug use atthe party. Delin admits in a sombre tone- and what did you tell them. ? that it couldn't be the reason for the death. He shakes his head. people were having a good time, getting their groove on.

I don't think anyone is going to be murderous why Lady Gaga is playing. What about the fight she might sing softly that was hardly a fight more like a bitch slap Fest. Cassandra calls the cold and go a blaze on Abigail's face as her face connected with her face and privately disagreed with him. Maybe not all of them took it seriously but some did. she mutters under her breath. What do you remember of that night? he asks. It's fuzzy sian from the general stability of the night. Hurricanes wondered from him to the floor. So we don't ever get flashes of images in your head. About field are people wearing weird red cloaks and talking in tongues stop she gives him an odd quizicall look what are you talking about ? Did you get a CaT scan? i think maybe you had some brain damage. Augustine quips yes they seem so real? Death related to the event but I have no idea what happened. She rubs the bridge of her nose with the forefinger and thumb. Listen Delsin I guess you're trying to help your brother good for you dude for trying to do something in your slacker life but interrogating me to help his investigation won't help. Her answer was curt and dismissive . she was getting tired of being slandered under the light while she was facing Debbin questioning. Yeah, well what do you me to do ? They are going to keep asking us about, what happened and we need to have some answers. his voice catch

On the slight desperation he was feeling. And I hate to hear that emerged from the deepest recesses of his mind when the big event turns in him been like a tornado. There is nothing to tell them in being too hard on the best thing for us to do is to talk with the lawyer or a doctor first. Most likely to after going through the emotional trauma and the pain we have some form of PStd. And do you know how long $itwill take for us to figure out what happened.

 

And Brooke swallows the sigh that threatens to push past her lips."I don't know,". MLB Este situation an obvious destination memories are difficult to process stop yes Austrians agrees quietly feeling the weight of the tragedy pulling down muscles . I will all You later. she waves himoff

she turns to brush past hel. But Dasin

st- him inwasn't finished , he didn't want to be . on his own accord .his fingers wide heeaem in what he thought was a comforting con tact .

A flash, another distorted vision assaults his mind. A woman, bright chestnut red hair flowing freely- moans loudly as a dark haired man fucks her, her throat is gripped in his blood-soaked hand. Their faces obscured by strange deformed masks so he didn't recognize them. Dark blue bruises and twisted scars cross their pale bodies as they move in a rutting motion. 

Though the woman seems to bear the worst of it, with blood openly pouring from open wounds.

He blinks, the memory doesn't fade, instead reality turns and shifts, and Brooke suddenly isn't even in front of him. He doesn't even have an idea of the origins of the old memory, but it takes him away.

Brooke watches his eyes glaze over, and looks confused. "What is wrong with you? Delsin"

the hell. Even she said something a small child your system and she backed away postal you have a bloody nose just as I told shorten update on his face followed by anger because the next scene let into the first one is a Augustine in concrete at a blonde head girl the one who was manipulating glass. Wait when ships out there from the cabin drones.

A sudden vicious anger descends over him and it catches him by surprise, he wasn't prepared to fight it off. He jerks his hand forward and wraps around her neck and cuts off her air supply

Augustine attempts to free herself from his vicious grip and kicks out sharply with her feet. But Delsin is relentless, something inside him feeds him an odd mix of lust and rage. Similar to when he was attacked by that strange ghost. 

The image of the couple returns, their lips biting and hungrily taking from each other, exchanging saliva and trading scratches on each other's flesh. 

Delsin had to share it with Augustine. He brings her head forward into a hot, searing kiss.  She gasps in shock, disbelief coloring her gaze at the sudden neediness. It weakens her knees and raises goosebumps on her flesh. Her mind protests, 'No, I don't want this...' But something is draining her strength, and her thoughts sputter in blind panic. Her vision is drawn to another world, in a room where two people are fucking on a pentagram. Their bodies writhing in pleasure, as red darkness spreads across their flesh. Onlookers in strange burgundy robes surround them, the figures hidden but their strong gazes rake over the couple.

Delsin drags Brooke into a nearby empty room, his hands exploring her body while his tongue savors the tart taste of her mouth. She whimpers into his mouth, overwhelmed by the sudden flush of emotions, some she is sure are not even hers. Desire thrums through her, circulating in her blood, and it is because of how Delsin is handling her body. The touch is igniting something she can't quite understand, but the questions are soon drowned by the pleasure.

Gripping her hair, he pulls her hair back and attacks her neck, planting kisses along pure white column. 

her legs are pushed forward across him across the chest.4 but only by a small margin and he stumbles back a few steps.

 


End file.
